


A Lexicon of Kisses

by CypressSunn



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Breathplay, Cunnilingus, F/F, Friends to Lovers, Pining, Sex Pollen, Smut, Starfleet Academy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-18
Updated: 2020-04-18
Packaged: 2021-03-01 23:08:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,077
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23695177
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CypressSunn/pseuds/CypressSunn
Summary: “What do you know about Venusian Ivy?” Nyota asks, uncertain and fretful.“Oh, who doesn’t know about Venusian Ivy?” Gaila twitters appreciatively with a laugh that is not returned. “It is a level four contraband substance. Not to mention the pollen is a mid-tier aphrodisiac.”A pregnant pause hangs over their shared dorm space. The unmistakable sound of an agonized whimper can be heard. “This is only… mid-tier?”
Relationships: Gaila/Nyota Uhura
Comments: 5
Kudos: 38
Collections: 101 Prompts Meme, Smut 4 Smut 2020





	A Lexicon of Kisses

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kuchi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kuchi/gifts).



Three curt, heavy knocks rang out in rapid succession, and Gaila knew something was wrong. She hadn’t issued any visitor passes and none of her latest conquests should be returning anytime soon. Not that either mattered; it was after hours, and curfew was well in effect.

Gaila groans from where she sits cross-legged on her bed, dumping her astroparticle physics text to the way. Barefoot and impatient at the door, she hollers, “According to the bylaws of cadet privacy rights, Starfleet accommodation advisors have to maintain a regular inspection schedule! So come back with twenty-four hours notice!”

“It’s a twelve-hour notice,” comes Nyota’s voice through the door, harsh and startling. “You would know that if you read the bylaws.”

On the list of people pounding on the other side of the door, her roommate had not been considered in the slightest. “Why would I read the bylaws when I have you? And what are you doing out there, just use your passcode—”

“Please, open the door, Gaila.”

She has never heard Nyota’s voice sound like that. Something is not right. Hitting the override switch, and the door slid open with a soft hiss. Nyota, without so much as a nod, marched right inside.

“Good evening to you, too.” Gaila says, stepping aside to avoid being barreled over. “Your human customs are still so impolite and—”

Before Gaila can finish, Nyota begins to strip. Not just out of her standard-issue red sweater and skirt, but discarding her undergarments as well. Usually, Gaila would be unphased by such a display. The baring of flesh was commonplace among her people, from the casual to the sensual to the erotic. But it was different for Nyota. Where some humans shared a portion of her planet’s values, Nyota did not. She was prim and proper, always requiring discreteness and some measure of privacy when disrobing. She had no shame over her body, but in it she carried her innate nobility.

Save for now, where Gaila could both see and admire the sides of her breasts, the length of her back, her buttocks.

“Though if we made this customary,” Gaila decides, “I would not object.”

“I don’t have time for our pretend play flirting, Gaila,” comes her breathless reply.

“Or for me to shut the door, it seems.” Gaila hits the switch again, the door securing itself on automatic.

The oversight doesn’t draw out any ire or panic from Nyota. Instead, she is preoccupied with shoving her discarded garments into the refuse duct.

“Nyota, that wasn’t the laundry—”

“I know!” 

Gaila steps forward, her concern growing. “You are out past curfew. You are intentionally throwing out your uniform. And you are hyperventilating. What is the matter?”

“I can’t explain. I need, I need to—”

Nyota rushes to their shared washroom, closing the door behind her.

“I can take apart a fuel reactor faster than you can translate Klingon to Vulcan. That door will not stop me.” It's a warning and a threat. All in the name of concern.

No response.

“Please, I am worried about you.”

Inside, Nyota's sounds of stirring and heavy breathing, almost frantic can be heard. Gaila is about to repeat herself, shout, tear the door apart when the question filters through.

“What do you know about Venusian Ivy?” Nyota asks, uncertain and fretful.

“Oh, who doesn’t know about Venusian Ivy?” Gaila twitters appreciatively with a laugh that is not returned. “It is a level four contraband substance. Not to mention the pollen is a mid-tier aphrodisiac.”

A pregnant pause hangs over their shared dorm space. The unmistakable sound of an agonized whimper can be heard. “This is only… mid-tier?”

“I mean unless you parceled the raw form. The filtered version is milder and lucrative to sell. Wait, no! Nyota, tell me you didn’t! With the _Vulcan_?” Gaila is not sure what offends her more, that Nyota finally stepped a toe out of line without her there to witness, or that she did it with that stuffy professor.

“Of course I didn’t— but, but what _if_ I was exposed to the raw pollen?”

“Where would you—” Gaila remembers Nyota mentioning a prior agreement to observe a lab practical. She was to be escorted by that Vulcan professor. She had said she wanted to examine all the exotic etymologies of interstellar flora. “What exactly happened in that laboratory?”

“A student missed handling some of the specimens. It was airborne…” Nyota trails off.

Gaila can feel a fury rising in her. “And no one thought to take you to med bay?”

“I may have lied about how close I was to the exposure.”

Gaila sighs. Of course. “Because you didn’t want to be embarrassed.”

An indignant thump follows on the door. “I didn’t want to be humiliated!”

“But your Terran reaction is nothing you can control. You simply need to treat them. Nyota, can you tell me your symptoms?”

“How do you know so much about this pollen?” Nyota accuses.

“Not important! Now tell me or I will find that angry drunken healer—”

“It's hot. Heated. Like burning all over my skin and inside, too.”

“Double vision?”

“No.”

“Vertigo?”

“Some.”

“Stiffness or numbness”

“Just the metacarpals. It comes and goes.”

“Of course,” Gaila figures. “You could not move your fingers to punch in your access code. And you’re too disoriented to use the override voice command.”

“I don’t need to be triaged. I just… need a little privacy.”

“You mean you need to get off.”

 _“Don’t say that_.”

Gaila presses her forehead flat to the door. Talking through walls was getting them nowhere. “What exactly is your plan?”

“Gaila, I know you think I’m repressed because I don’t tele… telegraph my…”

“Now might not be the best time for your expansive vocabulary, Nyota.”

“Because I don’t telegraph my sexuality, but I am perfectly capable of—” Nyota and her words fall to a cease as she lets out a long shuddering moan. It sounds painful.

“Nyota?”

“Everything hurts. Everywhere. And I can’t. I can’t.”

Realization lights up Gaila’s brain, all coils in alignment, the truth made undeniable. “You cannot achieve climax with your afflicted hands. And you lack the proper instruments—”

Nyota laughs, harsh and angry. “Who would have thought not stocking up on sex para— paraphernalia would kill me?”

“You are not going to die. But you are going to be in excruciating discomfort. Unless.”

“Unless?”

“Yes. Unless… someone were to help you.”

It’s all out in the open now. It had never been ‘play’ or ‘pretend’ between them. Not on Gaila’s part. not since she had gotten up close and personal to the careful particulars of Nyota and her most thorough mind. Her body, her voice, eyes, all of it secondary to the way it felt in those first early months to realize Nyota Uhura was the kind of Terran who read the bylaws and clauses. Who wielded them like weapons against a string of dormitory hall check-ins perpetrated at the oddest of hours by leery eyed men hoping to eke out time with the ‘slave girl’ recruit.

“Gaila, I can’t ask you to do that.” Nyota sounded so hesitant. And Gaila could hardly blame her. But there was only so much wanting an Orion could stand before it all needed to be laid bare.

“That is why it is an offering. You may say no, but only in concern of yourself. Not—”

The door is open a moment later. Nyota steps out in a towel and it closes behind her. Nyota looks both uncertain and resolute. “What should we—”

“Here. Let me first remove this.” With a tug, the towel falls to the floor and Nyota finds herself pressed against the wall. Gaila moves fluid as silk over her skin.

“How can I—” Nyota begins, flustered and slurring. “How is it I can feel your body heat … so close… but it doesn’t make the burning worse. It makes it… better.”

“Your body knows what it needs.”

For a moment Gaila’s mouth hovers over Nyota’s. Her lips are perfect, tantalizing. Her favorite feature of any Terran, but of her favorite Terran most of all. Yet a kiss this soon feels forbidden. Too much, too soon. An admission of how much she has wanted this and for how long. Like something stolen or taken from her, when first she must give. Instead settling over Nyota’s exquisite collarbones to the cleft between her breasts, Gaila merely breathes in a slow languishing trail. Mouthfuls of air producing that oh so Terran reaction she loves. How do they call it? The gooseflesh.

Nyota keens impatiently. “Gaila, can you just—”

The Orion hushes her as she takes her tongue in a trial run over the first nipple and the second. Uhura mewls. “I cannot ‘just’ anything,” she corrects her. “This is a remedy that must be felt… And you must be ready when I begin.” 

Nyota eyes open slightly. “You mean we haven’t already started?”

“Oh this?” Gaila hums her amusement. “This is nothing, nothing at all.”

Nyota shakes her head vehemently when Gaila’s thumbs run feather-light circles over her nipples. She looks ready to protest, mumbling under her breath in her melodious voice, things that Gaila cannot hear. Of the first things Gaila learned about Nyota, the most notable was her hatred of muttering. One spoke to be understood, to be heard, at all times. And now she had been reduced to this, inarticulate and words catching in her throat. Words that almost sounded like; “it is something… everything.”

Lower, green fingers slip into brown folds of Nyota’s sex, brushing ever so delicate and slow. Nyota ducks her head into the cradle of Gaila’s neck. 

“How does that feel?” Gaila whispers.

“Good. Better.”

“Symptoms?” she presses further.

“Wh- oh. I—” Nyota gathered herself, steadying against green shoulders. “Some improvement. I can feel my fingers again.”

“Improved circulation,” Gaila says, guiltlessly impressed with herself. “Much like repairing an electrical conduit where you—”

“Gaila.” Nyota uses her returned dexterity to twine her fingers into Gaila’s red curls. She gives an emphatic tug. “Not now.”

Neither of them feels considerably concerned over the fact that Nyota could fulfill her own needs at this point. If she so chose. And yet, she chose not to.

“Yes, where was I?” With her whole body, Gaila sinks to the floor. It’s a beautiful sight, her eyes slanted up and raking over Nyota’s body. She wants to extol in it, if only for a little while longer. She rakes her nails down Nyota’s flanks, followed by wet kisses on the insides of her thighs. She shakes nimbly, Nyota’s dark eyes never turning away. Not until Gaila tickles the backs of her knees. Her eyes flutter shut as she breathes out the sharpest whimper.

Gaila marvels at the exceptional mysteries of the Terran body. The simplest of touches in the strangest places always wound them in knots.

“Please, please, please,” is all the warning Gaila receives before Nyota widens her stance, ever so slightly, tempting and perfect. It’s all the invitation Gaila needs. Pressing her lips to the crescent of her sex, Gaila drags her tongue through her taste, probing and searching and giving. She makes no haste in the motions; swirling, flicking, kissing and kissing slow and deep. The tip of her tongue tending to the clitoris until Nyota’s knees buckle. But Gaila catches her, keeps her upright. She’s the scaffolding to her reactor core, holding the flame close, building and glowing, radiant and irresistible.

At last, Nyota cries out in a language that Gaila does not understand. But Gaila does not need a translator to decipher the way she is pulled up into a kiss, onto Nyota’s bed, and undressed with intent.

“You should have said something,” Nyota accuses with her mouth just under Gaila’s navel. “You should have told me—”

“I thought I did.” Gaila wriggles and shifts under Nyota’s ministrations. “I told you every way I could… I thought you knew and didn’t care. That you wanted that Vulcan—”

Nyota shook her head but still smiled. 

“I will listen better in the future.”

Laughter flutters up from Gaila’s belly. It feels like happiness and anticipation coupling together into something new. 

“Do you promise?”

Nyota’s mouth curves into a sly shape. “Do you know that on a certain moon near Epsilon IV, the word ‘promise’ is pronounced with a particular twist of the tongue?”

Gaila giggles. “I’m sure it sounds lovely. Why don’t you show me how it's done?”

  
  
  


**_fin._ **

**Author's Note:**

> 101 Prompt #68: Kiss


End file.
